The Ace and Deuce of Pipering
by QueensJenn
Summary: LORD OF THE DANCE The Lord of the Dance takes off, leaving Saorise in charge, and a Dark Lord lurking nearby. What secrets does Don Dorcha posess? A tale of heartbreak and hope.
1. Chapter 1

Morning dawned blue and clear, reflected in the eyes of the unicorn's maiden. She stood on the cliffs, searching the plains and valleys below in vain for her lover, the self titled Lord of the Dance.

She turned, her eyes flashing in disgust. Lord of the Dance – and he couldn't even be loyal to his own troupe or his own lover. Even now he was out with others, leaving her to lead the troupe should anything happen. And something would happen, she was sure of it. The gypsy Morrigan had been seen in town, and wherever the witch was, the Dark Lord was never far behind. He'd never forgiven the Lord for stealing what should have been his title, for stealing away his victory, for humiliating him.

Saorise despised him, for he was nothing more than a coward who used intimidation to get what he wanted. She shuddered to think of Cara, the dear little Spirit of the Dance, who had been nearly murdered by Don Dorcha in his mad quest for power. He was nothing more than a coward and a bully.

A sudden movement caught her eye and she tensed, mentally preparing to Dance – for her life if need be. But instead of the Dark Lord, the Lord of the Dance strode into the clearing that surrounded the cliffs.

"Aidan!" she whispered, using his secret name, the one that only she knew.

"I've missed you, Saorise," he said, but she knew something was wrong, because he called her Saorise, not Aeslin, and the warmth of his embrace didn't reach his voice.

"What's wrong?" she asked with a growing feeling of dread, for the unicorn's maiden was no fool and she knew when something was afoot.

"More power, Saorise," the Lord was saying. "They are fantastically gifted, more than you could ever imagine! More than anyone could!"

"That's wonderful." She forced herself to sound enthused. The Lord of the Dance's eternal quest for more power was foreign to her. "When will you bring them here?" _Surely he can't expect us to move our entire camp, _she thought wildly. _We've been established here for years!_

"I'm not bringing them here," he said, a sudden coolness in his tone. "Their energy is so pure, to dilute it with our own would be to weaken it. No, I must go to them, alone, and lead them into all they can be."

"Then you're leaving us," she said flatly.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

When he didn't answer, only looked at her with sorrow in those crystal blue eyes, she knew the awful truth and she threw herself into his arms.

"You're leaving me? Forever?" Her breath hitched in a sob.

"I must, Saorise," he said, trying to sound mournful, but she could see the undercurrent of excitement that coloured his aura.

"You said you'd always stand with me, Dance by my side," she said bitterly, reciting from their marriage vows.

"People change," the Lord shrugged. His mind – and his heart – was Dancing somewhere far away. "Someday you'll understand."

He stepped away from her. "There's a good girl. No tears, now," he said patronizingly.

"Who would cry for you, you pig!" she hissed and ran off into the gathering dark.


	2. Chapter 2

The Ace and Deuce of Pipering

Chapter 2

Saorise knew she could not go far or stay out too long. By now, their troupe would know that their Lord was gone, their psychic connection to him broken, and they would look to her to lead them now.

This frightened her. Never before ha she contemplated leading her troupe alone – she had always assumed that the Lord of the Dance would be by her side. It wasn't that she couldn't do it – it was that she had never before seen the need to.

She was aware of the dark forest around her. It was a late hour. Wolves would be out now, as well as pixies and worst of all, Dark Dancers. Against wolves and the Sidhe she could defend herself – against Dark Dancers she wouldn't stand a chance. Their magic was more powerful than hers. Besides – they fought dirty.

She was so busy avoiding her enemies that she didn't notice him until it was too late.

Moonlight glinting off his silver mask, the Dark Lord Don Dorcha turned to face her.

"Don't try anything," she said, her voice low and still wobbling from unshed tears. "I can have my entire troupe here before you could call music enough to attack me." It was a bluff, of course. Saorise could only pray that he fell for it.

The Dark Lord sniffed the air. "Your troupe is at least fifty miles away," he said, a small smile playing around his lips. "But you needn't worry. I would not attack a lone woman, Lady Saorise."

"How…how are you sure they're not in the trees all around us?"

Dorcha shrugged one shoulder, a graceful, rolling, lopsided movement. "It's a gift. Dancers can see auras, Dark Dancers can smell magic." He smirked. "Besides…The Lord of the Dance has just left his Lady. She runs away into the woods, too distraught to be around her troupe, and in her anguish runs straight into Dark Dancer territory."

She flushed, angry that he was able to read her so easily.

"My advice to you – " he stepped toward her, strangely unthreatening.

"I didn't ask you for your advice," she said, trembling even though the night was warm.

"I know. Try to forget him, Lady Saorise." His voice was softer and gentler than she had ever heard it as he reached out to caress her cheek with one calloused finger. "He isn't worth your tears, my Lady. He isn't worth you. You deserve something so much better than him."

She forced herself to look into his eyes – pale blue and shining more brightly than the stars. For half a moment she saw something there – some private agony, quiet torture, then without so much as a rustle of the leaves, he was gone, melted away into the night.

Sleep was along time coming that night, but not because she was missing her Lord.


	3. Chapter 3

1The Ace and Deuce of Pipering

Chapter 3

Waaugh! I can't believe how long it's been! I'm so sorry! I was working all summer, full time, 8-5, and I just could never find time to sit down and type up my story! But now I can! Hooray! Also, please forgive any typos. I just got a new laptop and I'm not entirely used to the keyboard yet.

The seasons changed, as they are wont to do, and the Dancers accepted Saorise as their Lady. They fell into a routine with her, and accepted that their power was now diminished, for it took both a Lord and a Lady to balance the wild Dance magic. Missing one was missing one half of the magic.

And yet, the Dancers adapted, as they always did. They were yet young in the circles of the Earth, and would remain so for a very long time.

But Saorise wasn't nearly as sure of her abilities as her troupe was. There were rumours of a new, dark power growing in the East, so terrible that it set Dark Dancers to hiding. Anything that was that malignant and that powerful was a force to be feared, for such a force would crush her diminished troupe.

The Dark Dancers, thankfully, had not been seen throughout the winter. The thought of them filled her with dread, and yet made her feel strange, all at the same time. She had not been able to forget the look in Don Dorcha's eyes as he'd touched her cheek - nothing like she would have expected from the most evil man in Eire. It was almost like, for that one second, the Dark Lord was human.

She shivered, turning her thoughts away from that dangerous line of thinking. To let her defenses down would be to practically invite the slaughter of her troupe.

Her troupe...

"Lady Saorise!"

Saorise saw one of the younger members of her troupe running toward her, a look of panic on his face. Tinan, she remembered absently. That was his name.

"Lady Saorise, there's...there's Dark Dancers! In our camp!"

She felt her heart grow cold. "Attacking?" she asked unnecessarily and was stunned at the response.

"No, Lady. They're wounded...they're asking for our help."

"Our help," Saorise repeated dazedly. "It's a trap, Tinan. Go and alert Caoimhe."

"All right." Tinan did not sound convinced. "But that blood looked awfully real."

"Blood?" she asked. The Dark Dancers should not have blood on them. "I'm coming!"

She raced back to camp as fast as the difficult terrain would allow her to, and when she got there she found that sure enough there were three dirty, bloodied Dark Dancers sitting warily in the middle of camp, surrounded by a circle of her own people, led by Caoimhe, her second in command.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Tell me your names."

"Lorcan," said the first, a tall man with sandy hair.

"Aithne-Arlana," said the second, a slender woman whose hair was as red as the flames she was named for.

"Cathan," the last replied simply. He looked up, catching her eyes with his own pale blue ones and her stomach contracted painfully, though not entirely from fear. _What is he doing here? _She thought.

Keeping her voice as steady as possible, she instructed the two healers to take Lorcan and Aithne-Arlana. She would deal with the one who called himself Cathan.

As soon as the others retreated to the huts, she grabbed him under the arm, wincing as her fingers became coated in sticky blood. Dorcha hissed and let out a string of curses, but gave her a look of respect and got to his feet.

She dragged him roughly into her own house. If there was any chance she would become emotional, she didn't want anyone else seeing.

"Sit down," she snapped, pointing to a spot near the fire pit. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you dressed as you usually are?" For indeed he was not dressed as his status would permit, but as a simple troupe member.

"I just had to see you again," he said with mock sincerity, and for a moment her heart skipped a beat, until she realized that he was mocking her.

"We were attacked," he admitted as she pressed her fingers into the wound down his side.

"By what?"

"I don't know. Lady Saorise, there are darker things than my dancers roaming the Earth these days."

His words gave her a small shiver of fear in her stomach as she gently peeled away his shirt from the bloody gash. She couldn't believe how close she was to him, and suddenly the room seemed very hot.

"What were you doing so near my camp?" she asked, her fingers probing the wound and the soft flesh of his back.

"I was coming to warn you, my Lady," he whispered, eyes closed with the pain.

"You're lying." She jabbed at him harder than was necessary.

"I would not see you hurt," he replied.

"What reason do I have to trust you? You're my enemy, Don Dorcha."

"Then why are you helping me? Why not just send us away and let infection take us?"

"Because I am not a monster, and I am capable of mercy."

"I am not a monster either," he said softly, and caught her hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. For the second time she saw humanity in them; not the cold blooded killer she expected. The effect was startling.

"Join me, Saorise," he said hoarsely. "We've had our differences but it's in the past. If we combine our troupes we can defeat this new power and defend our way of life."

"No." Saorise shook her head. "I will never join you. You are evil, I am not. You can speak all the pretty words you like, but in the end, you and I would end up in battle – against each other. It is nature. It is the way it must be. You're healed now. Go, take your Dancers and never come here again."

He got to his feet, and for an instant real hurt registered in his gray eyes. "You're making a mistake," he said softly.

"I do not make mistakes," replied the unicorn's maiden. It would be a long time before he saw him again.


	4. Chapter 4

1Holy crap, guys!! I'm so sorry! I bet you thought I forgot about this story! Well, I didn't! I am going to finish it, oh yes. Oh yes indeed. )

Chapter 4

Months passed, and before long it was a year to the day when the Lord of the Dance left his troupe. The presence in the East had grown. Over the winter, several more remote villages had been wiped out completely; shocked travellers finding only destruction and ruins curiously devoid of corpses. Clearly something had been feeding on the bodies, but no one could say what, for no scavenger would bother with lean, frozen corpses.

Saorise stood in the middle of camp and watched over her dancers. It was the festival of Beltaine, and everyone was celebrating. The children who were too young to join in the magic circles had made their own dancing circle and were joyously trying to copy the adults in their own clumsy, yet oddly graceful, way.

A drop of rain on her sleeve made her pause. There were no clouds in the sky, no reason why it should be raining. Then she looked at her sleeve and tried not to scream. The drop was not rain at all but blood. There was blood falling from the sky.

A heartbeat later, all hell broke loose.

Swarms of people in red and black costumes ran through the camp, setting huts on fire and swinging the flaming sticks at the dancers.

Immediately, Saorise was clad in her black and silver war dress, her hardshoes on her feet. Some of the more aware dancers followed her lead; others were too stunned to do anything but stand there and stare at the chaos.

She called up a tune – bitter and sharp, a warning tune – and began to dance. To her horror, this did not slow the strange attackers in the slightest. Instead, they too began to dance, throwing her steps back at her, but twisting them, changing the tempo and rhythm until she barely recognized her own attack.

A child to the right of her screamed as the magic enveloped him, separating his soul from his body.

"You cowards!" she screamed, nauseated by the sight of the boy's death. "Attack me! Not these children who have never wronged you!"

In response, the captain of the small band trebled and sent a wave of magic energy in her direction, knocking her to the ground. They ran off, laughing.

Saorise struggled to her feet, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her.

"Anyone who is able to, dance!" she ordered. A few people sluggishly started to dance, but it was no use. Each time someone started, one of the strange Dancers would effortlessly dance in defence.

_Who are these people? _Saorise thought wildly. _They're so much better than us!_

The Lord of the Dance's words from a year ago rushed into her mind. _They are fantastically gifted...more than you could ever imagine..._

_No, _she told herself firmly. The Lord of the Dance would not attack her. He loved her! He had loved her, at least...once...in the years that seemed like a lifetime ago.

As soon as it started, the battle was over. The black and red Dancers did not retreat, they simply vanished into thin air, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake.

Saorise stared in horror at the carnage around her. Over half her troupe lay dead or dying, the majority of the dead ones children.

"Lady Saorise..."

She looked down. Tinnan lay at her feet, blood spurting from a deep gash in his stomach every time his heart beat.

"No, Tinnan," she breathed, kneeling down to help him.

"Not...an auspicious start...is it?" he laughed, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. "I was not meant...to be a War Dancer."

"Tinnan, no, you are a fine War Dancer," Saorise said, tears pricking at her eyes. "Lie still. I will help you."

He looked at her a moment. They both knew there was nothing to be done any more.

"It has been an honour serving you, Lady Saorise..."

She took his hand in her own as the light in his eyes grew dim and faded completely.

Then she stood, willing herself not to cry. A wave of dizziness and nausea overwhelmed her and she gave in to the dark sparkles at the edge of her vision and sank to the ground.

More coming soon! I promise this time!


	5. Chapter 5

The Ace and Deuce of Pipering, Chapter 5

Well. Hello there. I bet you thought I forgot about this story.

Well, the truth is, I did. Sorry.

But the good news is, I remembered it, dug out my notebook, and I am here to present to YOU the long awaited fifth chapter! Even better, I have about 3 more chapters written! After that, I'm sorta winging it, but I'm sure it'll be okay.

While I'm at it, I'll give a little bit of background on this story. If anyone remembers the "Planet Ireland" series of LOTD fanfictions, written by a girl named Rachel Barrow in the early 2000's, this story is based partially on that world (mainly in the mechanics of the magic used). And if anyone does remember these stories, would they be able to send me a link or something? I haven't read them in ages and I'd love to see them again. Thanks.

So, if you can accept my deepest apologies for abandoning this story, I shall let us get on with it :)

When she came to, it was dark.

The fires were smouldering and she was able to take better stock of the damage.

The village was completely destroyed: the huts were burned, mostly to the ground, and the dancing circle, their source of magic and power, was scuffed until it was broken. In the waning light of the fires, she could see her people huddled together holding spears, knives, anything that could be used as a weapon.

Caiomhe, her second-in-command was the first to see her and she lowered her knife.

"Thank the gods, Saorise, I thought we'd lost you," Caiomhe breathed. "You're covered in blood. Are you hurt?"

"No, not me. Tinan, he...he's dead."

Tinan's mother, standing back in the crowd, made a low sound of grief in her throat. Two other women put their arms around her.

"Where are all the bodies?" Saorise whispered. Surely they couldn't have buried or burned them already?

"I don't know," Caiomhe answered. "We all collapsed at the same time, and when we woke, everything was as you see it."

She felt a sick feeling grow in the pit of her stomach, but pushed it down. There was no sense getting everyone excited over unfounded suspicions.

Caiomhe took her aside as she was thinking these thoughts.

"Those were not Dark Dancers," Caiomhe said bluntly.

"No," replied Saorise. "They were something new. Something much stronger...and much more evil."

Caiomhe shuddered "Whoever they are, we have no hope against them. We were at half our strength before the battle, and now we are at half that again. And the dancing circle is destroyed – we cannot do magic.

Saorise considered this. Caiomhe was right, of course. Unbidden, the Dark Lord's offer came back to her mind, and she shared this information with her War Captain.

"Join with him? Have you gone mad?" Caiomhe was incredulous. "It's a trap, Saorise. He'll kill us all as we sleep."

"It's our best chance," Saorise shot back. "If we combine our troupes, we'll have a Lord and a Lady – full magic. He's got a lot of very powerful dancers. Even at half strength he was nearly able to overcome us."

Caiomhe stared at her steadily. "I trust you, Saorise, if you think this is wise. Your judgement has never failed us yet. But you will have to convince them." She jerked her head in the direction of the survivors.

Saorise nodded and steeled herself for what was sure to be a difficult battle. Carefully she outlined her plan to her troupe, her heart sinking as she saw their faces grow colder and colder.

"You would kill us all, as you killed my son!" hissed Roisin, Tinan's mother. Several of the women grumbled their agreement, banding about her as though to protect her.

Saorise, stung by this comment, lost her temper. "I force no one to come with me! If you would stay here and die that is your choice. But do not come to us for salvation when the Shadow in the East falls on you again, for there shall be none."

Her troupe, every member, grew silent at this uncharacteristic outburst. Caiomhe stepped toward her.

"I stand with you. Who else among us?"

Slowly, each member of the troupe stepped forward, each repeating Caiomhe's pledge until only Roisin and her three handmaidens were left.

"You go," said the mourning woman. "I have no reason to live on anymore. I shall just...sit here awhile, I think."

Saorise bowed her head in understanding. Roisin had been a princess in the northern lands before the magic had called and she'd run off to become a Dancer. "May the spirits accept you and the stars sing your praises," she murmured, the traditional blessing for someone who has died.

Roisin paled a bit, but did not change her mind. She stood in the charred ruins of their home until long after the Dancers were out of sight.

***

The trek to the Dark Dancers' territory was shorter than they expected, taking only a day and a night. The doors to the Dark camp opened before them, almost as if they were expected. Which, mused Saorise, they probably were.

She took the time to study the auras of the people in the camp. Women tending cooking fires, men fashioning Dancing shoes, children running around, playing secret games known only to them – their auras projected happiness and tranquility. There was no malice among these people. The only reason they were called Dark was because they had opposed the Light, and anything that does so must be dark. Such is nature.

Then she studied the Dark Lord himself. There was no peace in his aura. Instead, there was a deep bitterness and rage which was frightening to see. But there was also sorrow too, the sadness he could never quite hide from his eyes whenever he looked at her.

"What brings you to my camp, Lady Saorise?" he asked, as if it were an everyday occurence that mortal enemies dropped by for tea.

"I have...reconsidered your offer, Dark Lord," Saorise said with a small bow.

"I see."

_Damn him,_ she thought. _He's trying to make me look foolish._

"My troupe and I have come to you and yours in defence against the Eastern forces. Now if you don't mind, might we speak privately?"

He looked amused, then spoke to his own people. "Treat the Dancers as you would your own. Anyone who does less will be severely punished." He let that threat hang in the air for a moment, then turned to her. "If you would come with me, my Lady." He led her to a long hall, what looked like a meeting room of sorts.

"I place my trust in you," she said without preamble. "My Dancers are down to nothing. We will die if you don't help us."

"I will help you," he said simply.

She swallowed. "Thank you." Then she sighed. "It was terrible. I have never felt such power before. Everything we Danced, they Danced right back. And the children...they killed nearly all of them...how do I explain to the ones who are left? How do I tell the little ones that their friends are gone because I couldn't protect them? How do I look my troupe in the eyes now? After we've lost everything because I couldn't protect them? That I led them into straits so dire we had to run to the enemy for succor? And of course, what must you think of this? Hasn't this always been your lifelong dream, to see the Dancers toppled, crawling to you on their hands and knees?"

As if coming out of a trance, she realized what she had just said. "I...I didn't mean that...of course we're grateful...I just..."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Feel better?"

She realized, to her surprise, that she did feel somewhat better. The tight knot of grief in her chest had loosened a little. A tear fell down her face before she could wipe it away, then another and another, and she realized once again that she was making a fool of herself.

Hesitantly he moved closer to her and she leaned into him. He put his arms around her, offering what comfort he could after such a tragedy. Saorise cried against him, one half of her marveling in the feel of him against her, the rough weave of his shirt, the scent of woodsmoke and leather. The other hald couldn't believe how wrong this act was. A unicorn's maiden being comforted by the Lord of Darkness.

After a time, her tears subsided and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. As if realizing how very close together they were, the Lord and Lady broke apart, neither able to look the other in the eye.

"I'm sorry," Saorise said wearily. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"It's not wrong to mourn your dead," he said wisely. "But you must also avenge them as well." He motioned to the long hall "You and your troupe will stay here. Sleep tonight. Tomorrow we fight."


	6. Chapter 6

((As always, thanks very much for the comments. Much appreciated!))

* * *

They did not, in fact, fight the next day. Instead, Dorcha and Saorise thought it would be far more prudent to decide on a strategy before the next attack.

One thing was for certain: they both now had a definite advantage over any other time. The single troupe had a Lord and a Lady, War Dancers and Healing Dancers. The magic was in balance.

Combining the troupes gave another advantage as well: the Dark Dancers could sniff out the Enemy, while the Light Dancers could read their auras and get a sense of their energy and focus.

Saorise, however, was not convinced they were doing enough.

"They know our steps," she insisted.

"They know your steps," Dorcha mused. "But not mine. I wonder why that could be?"

"Someone's been leaking information," Saorise said grimly. "But who?"

Dorcha was silent, his eyes glinting. "Someone who knows your steps but not mine, someone who would be disloyal enough to share information with the Enemy."

Saorise thought. "You're not suggesting...!" she cried. "Just because you hate the Lord of the Dance doesn't mean you can blame him for everything!"

He shrugged. "It was only a thought. Now, more importantly, what do we do?"

"Create new War Dances. Immediately," Saorise said.

Dorcha nodded. "I'll start Lorcan and Aithne-Arlana on that." He gave the message to the page outside the door, then came and sat across from her.

"It's going to come down to a major battle." He began to draw troupe placements in the dust. "There is one thing we can do, when it comes down to this. A very ancient War Dance.

"You, my Lady, will lead the entire troupe in the Dance, pouring forth all the energy you possibly can, into a channel: me. At the very last possible second, I will unleash it on the Enemy. If all goes well, that will be the end of them."

Saorise was horrified. "You'll be killed."

He did not meet her eyes. "I know."

"No. I won't allow it. There has to be some other way."

"There may well be. But if there isn't – if it comes down to this, and this is our only chance – please promise me that you will be strong enough to lead the troupe. Both durgin the Dance and – and after..."

She swallowed. "Of course."

"Good."

A pause, and then the moment was gone.

"I think we should find the other camp," Saorise said at last. "Scout it out."

Dorcha nodded. "I agree. The question is, how do we find it? We can't simply Dance a Seek Spell. I imagine their defences are up so high, the slightest twinge of Dance magic would set it off. The last thing we want to do is lead them back here before we're ready."

"Agreed," Saorise said. "Yet we can't just set off blindly, either. Eire is too big, we'd be searching for years." She did not need to say that they did not have years.

They fell silent, listening to the light drizzle outside. The rain made intricate patterns, like the sound of hundreds of dancers. Saorise shivered, thinking again of the Dance of Death. Who was this man, that he would sacrifice himself for people that he'd only recently tried to destroy?

Perhaps she'd been wrong about him. Perhaps Dark didn't have to mean evil. Perhaps...

"We disguise it." Dorcha's voice broke her out of her musings. "After we're gone, our people destroy the Circle. That way, the Shadow has no way to trace it back. Only the two of us will go – any more, and the magic will be too easy to detect."

"How do we get back?"

He paused. "We don't. When the time comes, we bring our own troupes to us"

She shook her head. "We won't have enough power. The Lord of the Dance was experimenting with mass teleportation before he left. It takes at least ten Dancers of considerable strength to Summon a troupe of our size." She considered for a moment. "Why not lead them to us?"

He thought. "That might work. We'll have to have our own people remake the Circle after we're gone, but I think you have the right idea."

She smirked. "I wasn't made Lady for nothing."

"I know." His answer was so sincere that she knew he really did know. He respected her intelligence, something not many men had done. A unicorn's maiden is a pretty face, nothing more.

Saorise almost said something more, almost gave him her true name, but stopped herself. Who knew if this was all just a dream, that would end as soon as the enemy was defeated?

Dorcha seemed to sense what she'd been about to do, for he dropped her gaze.

"Tomorrow it is, then."


	7. Chapter 7

Hey all! Quick author's note – this chapter marks where I left off writing this story back in 2006(!). So if the writing style changes halfway through, that's why. :) Glad you're all enjoying it, and thanks SO much for the reviews!

Early the next morning the two dancers stood at the ready, their troupe behind them, ready to destroy the Circle as soon as they were gone.

They didn't bother with Calling music. The spell of Seeking was not so complex that it required the sacred fusion of music and Dance to power it. The simple rhythm of their shoes over the Circle would provide enough power.

A scrap of clothing lifted from one of the Shadow Dancers during the battle was placed in the centre of the Circle. Saorise had never Danced with anyone other than the Lord of the Dance before, and was surprised at the difference. Dorcha was not quite as light on his feet as the Lord, but his steps were less flashy, showing off his stronger technique and command of the basics.

The sound of the two Dancer's shoes intertwined effortlessly, neither drowning out the other nor letting the other carry the silent melody. The cloth in the centre of the Circle began to glow with a sickly green light.

_I hope this works, _thought Saorise, _because if it doesn't, we are back the start!_

Then the familiar feeling of lightheadedness took over and she gave in to the Dance of Transportation.

When the Magic let them go, they stood in the centre of a small meadow. From not far away they could hear the sound of voices. Dorcha silently looked at her, and together they set off in search of their target.

To their surprise, the Enemy camp was not heavily gaurded at all. There was no wall around the motley collection of huts to keep out wild animals.

Instead, a ring of bones circled the campground.

"Necromancy!" hissed the Dark Lord, his eyes narrowed. "Those bones – they're human! They're using the spirits of the departed to gaurd their camp!"

Saorise felt sick. Unconsciously she backed away from the gruesome sight – so far, in fact, that she was pressing her back up against the Dark Lord. He looked surprised, then almost faintly pleased when she did not back away.

Day passed into dusk, and still there was no sign of activity from within. The two dancers hid themselves in the tall grass, each thinking their own thoughts to battle the drowsy hum of insects.

"Why did you say that?" Saorise at last gave voice to the question that had been burning within her for the better part of a year.

"Say what?" Dorcha asked, looking at her as if she had gone mad.

"When I first met you, just after the Lord left. You told me I deserved better than him. Why did you say that?"

"Because you do," he said simply.

"Why comfort me at all?" Saorise was not going to let the matter drop.

"Because I couldn't watch you waste your tears on that swine."

"Why?"

He paused for a long moment, searching her soul with those fierce gray eyes. "Because I love you," he said softly, at last.

"What?" Of all the things she was expecting him to say, that had not been one of them.

He shrugged, dropping her gaze. "You heard me," he said.

"But...but that's impossible." She swallowed, her mind reeling. This went against everything. A Dark Dancer in love with a Light? It went against nature!

Or did it?

Maybe...it was possible...that the Dark Dancers were not so different after all. That they weren't the monsters the Lord of the Dance had always portrayed them as.

"That's why," she said, realization dawning on her. "That's why you tried so hard to kill the Lord of the Dance."

He still couldn't meet her eyes. "Lady Saorise, that was a different time. I...I shouldn't have done that."

She smiled bitterly. "A year ago I would have hated you for it. Now I think he deserved it."

"Don't say that."

"I mean it."

"No. Don't be like that. You're a Dancer – a paragon of virtue. Leave...leave the hatred to me."

She gazed at him, trying to figure out if he was mocking her or not.

A sudden noise caught their attention. There was someone moving in the Enemy camp!

All thoughts of love and other matters forgotten, the two dancers looked at each other. Dorcha crept forward, moving as silently as a cat as he tried to get a better look at the situation. He turned and looked over his shoulder.

"They're all there," he whispered. "It's time."

No sooner had they stood up then the Shadow Dancers spotted them. Growling something in their gutteral, feral language, the Shadows approached.

"Take my hand," Dorcha whispered. Saorise did so. "Now run!"

They took off across the meadow, the Shadow Dancers in hot pursuit. Just as she thought she couldn't run any farther, Dorcha ripped an artifact from where it hung on a cord around his neck. Whispering a few words of magic, he activated it, and the lightheaded feeling indicative of Teleportation enveloped them. When it cleared, they were standing in the Circle in the Dark Dancers camp.

"Battle formations!" Dorcha ordered. "We don't have much time, maybe only minutes, until they follow us."

No sooner had he said that, then the Circle glowed and the Shadow Dancers burst into the camp.


	8. Chapter 8

As always thanks for the reviews! Your kind words make my day :)

For ten terrifying seconds, there was pure chaos in the camp as the Shadow Dancers poured from the open Dance Circle. Then, almost as one, the Dancers and Dark Dancers began the War Dances that they had been drilling in their Lord and Lady's absence.

They split into four groups, to surround the Enemy. Caiomhe and Aithne-Arlana, the War Captains for their respective factions, each took charge of one group, while Dorcha and Saorise took the other two.

They might as well have been Dancing against a stone wall. It seemed impossible, but the Shadow Dancers had grown in power and precision since the last encounter. They laughed at the Dancer's pitiful attempts to weaken them, then killed whoever was in reach.

"This isn't working," Saorise gasped to Dorcha during a pause between Dances, as Caiomhe's group picked up the slack.

"The Dance of Death," he said, his voice low so that no Shadow Dancer would pick up on it.

She shook her head. "No. It's not an option. There's another way. There _has_ to be."

He looked at her. "Pretty soon, we will not have enough dancers left. If there is another option, it had better present itself _now._"

She looked around desperately, but of course nothing happened. The Shadow Dancers were beginning to overpower them. Dorcha was right. Soon there would be no one left. She looked at him, and nodded.

"Good choice," he said softly. "Let's start getting everyone into position. Four rows of equal length. The first two must be all women. The last two must be all men. Pray to every god and goddess up there that we have enough. You stay here and hold the Enemy off while I assemble the dancers." He whistled sharply, a signal to his own dancers.

Little by little, dancers began to break away from the battle groups. Saorise saw them heading down the grassy knoll behind the camp, and her heart sank. She knew Dorcha would have to join them there soon. And then she would never see him again.

She and her battle group Danced until the sun was high overhead. Time seemed to lose meaning. One by one, Dancers and Dark Dancers alike stole away to where the Dance of Death would be performed. Though they were Dancing their hardest, they couldn't even touch the Shadow Dancers.

And then Saorise realized something: the Shadow Dancers were holding back.

_They're toying with us!_ She thought, with a stab of white hot fury. They knew the Dancers were outnumbered and overpowered, and instead of finishing them off quickly, and with a degree of mercy, they were prolonging it, just to see them suffer. With the rush of anger came a renewed energy, and she Danced harder, even though her feet were blistered and bleeding and tears of pain poured down her cheeks.

"It's time," Dorcha spoke softly to her. "I'll start the dance while you get into place."

And just like that, all the fight went out of her. She'd focused so hard on Dancing to try to block out the reality of what was going on. They were preparing for the Dance of Death, and Dorcha was going to use himself as a channel for the magic. And then he would die.

She stopped Dancing, just for a moment, and looked at him.

"I love you too," she said softly, because she knew she would never get another chance.

In spite of their situation, he smiled. "I can die happy, then," he said, and she knew he was telling the truth, because his aura had shifted and changed. The sorrow and bitterness and rage was gone, replaced by a calm, tranquil acceptance – and a faintly glowing joy.

Then he turned his back and was gone.

Saorise bit back her feelings of grief and rage. There would be time for that later, when the battle was won. For now, she had to keep Dancing, keep the plan in place, so that everything would work perfectly. So that Dorcha's sacrifice would not be in vain.

Finally, it was just her, Caoimhe and Aithne-Arlana Dancing. She signaled to the two women to go, and prepared to run herself.

And then time stopped.

Saorise blinked. All around her, Dancers and Shadow Dancers were frozen mid-step, as though someone had dropped them in a block of ice.

"Saorise," said a voice from the back of the Enemy's lines. Her heart jumped into her throat.

"Aidan," she said softly. Aidan – the Lord of the Dance, stepped out from behind a frozen Shadow Dancer. Except he wasn't the Lord of the Dance anymore, not as she had known him. His hair was still golden and his eyes the same cornflower blue, but now there was a hardness to them, a madness that had never been there before. He had exchanged his simple white shirt and black trousers for black leather, smoother and slicker than she had ever seen it before. He looked unearthly, and she shivered.

"I've missed you, Saorise," he said. "Have you missed me?"

"Let me go," she said. "Or kill me. One way or another, I will end this."

"Don't you miss me?" he asked. "Not at all?"

"I'm not going to join you," she said. "I would never join you. You're sick."

"You couldn't," he said casually. "You're inferior. Weak. That's why we must destroy you."

She shook her head sadly. "I should have seen this coming all along. This madness was always inside of you, this hunger for power. I can't believe I ever loved you."

For a moment, his eyes flickered with a glimpse of – what? Humanity? Then the mask was back in place – though incorporeal, a mask just as real as the one Dorcha and his men wore, and infinitely more terrifying.

"Let me go," she repeated, "or kill me. I must end this."

"It will end in your death," the Shadow Lord said grimly.

With a gesture of his hand, the world returned to normal. Saorise ran down the hill to the gathered Dancers as the ground began to shake under her feet.

The Dance of Death had begun.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi to all my readers! I apologize for the long delay, and I thank you for all your kind words in the interim. It really makes my day, and inspires me to get going, haha. Here is the penultimate chapter...hard to believe it's here, four years in the making. **

**As a quick note: the Dance of Death as described here is the final act from Michael Flatley's "Celtic Tiger," which can be seen here: .com/watch?v=om5g_Ztf73I**

**Except in this version, Don Dorcha isn't flailing about. ;)**

**Enjoy!**

Saorise covered her ears as harsh, discordant notes filled the air. The music for the Dance of Death was pure sorrow and rage turned into music; it was hard to listen to and even worse to Dance to.

Dorcha stood in the centre of the first line of Dancers. Unfailingly, he took the first steps: just simple ones, setting a rhythm for the others to follow. The first line picked it up, then the second, and the third and fourth, until they were all dancing in tandem; eighty pairs of feet moving in perfect synchronization with each other and with the music.

Then abruptly the pattern changed; the fourth line broke with the rest and carried the wordless melody as the rest accented and emphasized it, then shifted again; over and over, sometimes moving together and sometimes separately, moving toward an inevitable and terrible conclusion. The music swelled around until she couldn't breathe; she wanted to scream but she knew it would be lost in the cacophany.

The wind picked up, the sky darkened, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

And still Dorcha stood strong.

All around them, the Shadow Dancers had stopped their attack, looking on in interest at this new display of desperation. Only Aiden, the former Lord of the Dance, the Lord of all that was good and pure in Eire, and now the Shadow Lord, wore different expression on his face.

A look of fear.

_You know,_ Saorise thought triumphantly. _You know what we're doing, and you're afraid, because nothing you do now can save yourself. How does it feel to be on the losing side for once? _

And then just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Like a physical pressure was taken off her chest, Saorise found herself able to breath again. The lines of Dancers paused, just for a moment. Saorise felt her hopes rise – was it over? Maybe Dorcha was mistaken, maybe he didn't wouldn't die -

And then the first line of Dancers started up again, a simple step repeated over and over again, each subsequent line picking up on the next downbeat. Slow at first, and then faster and faster until it seemed like they were Dancing faster than humanly possible.

Just as she thought it couldn't possibly go on any longer, Dorcha stepped out of line. Her heart sped up. This was it. The Dark Lord threw back his head and lifted his arms. As one, the lines of Dancers stopped.

Like a silent shockwave the deadly, destructive Dance magic flowed over the land, destroying everything in it's touch. One by one the Shadow Dancers screamed in agony and turned to ash, their bodies completely obliterated by the force of the magic.

The Shadow Lord locked eyes on her, his blue eyes wide and pleading, and in that moment he was no longer the Shadow Lord, but the Lord of the Dance, _Aidan_, once again.

_Saorise..._ whispered his voice in her mind, but the Unicorn's Maiden stood strong.

And then he too turned to ash, and was blown away by the wind.

Shouts of joy went up from the exhausted Dancers, but Saorise only had eyes for Dorcha, who lowered his arms and fell to the ground. She ran ran as fast as she could to him, hoping that maybe she could reach him in time; speak to him before he died, hear his voice one last time...

But it was too late. The Dark Lord was gone.

With a scream of grief she collapsed over him as the skies opened, as though Erin the Goddess Herself was weeping for the fate of Her Chosen. Maybe She was.

An indeterminate amount of time passed. It may have been hours, or maybe only minutes. Saorise didn't know, until a gentle hand landed on each shoulder. She looked up into the concerned blue eyes of Caoimhe. Aithne-Arlana stood on her other side.

"Lady Saorise, it's time," Caoimhe spoke softly. "We must begin preparations for the funeral."

Numbly, Saorise nodded, even though she didn't want to. She didn't want to have her Dancers and Dark Dancers – because they were _hers_ now, because that's what he'd want – bear his body back to the ruined village. She didn't want to see him lain in the centre of the Dancing Circle. She didn't want to build the funeral pyre, and light it with fire taken from the sacred Flame.

She didn't want to let go.

As they stood there, the rain stopped. An unnatural stillness fell over the battlefield. Whispers came from the back of the crowd of Dancers, and they began to part. Saorise looked in the direction of the whispers, and had to blink to make sure that her tired eyes were not playing tricks on her.

Shining brightly in the midst of the gloom all around it, a Unicorn stood at the edge of the forest. As it glided forward, the Dancers drew back; afraid of this immortal being, the personification off all that was pure and good in Eire. The Dark Dancers averted their eyes, feeling dirty and ashamed in this creature's presence.

The Unicorn stopped before Saorise and the fallen Dark Lord.

"Please," she whispered, though she didn't know what she was asking it for.

_You have summoned me, _came a voice in her head, and suddenly she understood. The Unicorn's Maiden: for years she'd thought it was a meaningless title. But it wasn't; she was the only one pure enough in Eire to seek the aid of the holy creature.

"Please," she asked again, hardly daring to breathe.

_The Shadow Dancers were a blight on Eire. The magic they called was not of this Earth, and has disrupted the balance of the Magic, and changed the course of Her Song._

It lowered its head and placed the tip of its horn on Dorcha's chest.

_Breathe, Dark Lord. Your time on Eire is not yet through._

Before Saorise could fully understand its unspoken words, the Unicorn retreated back through the lines of Dancers and into the trees. She watched it go, before realizing there was a new sensation under her fingers, still resting over Dorcha's heart.

A heartbeat.


End file.
